Fanar
by Wild Blood Rose
Summary: This is the tale of Fanar Merinos, mother of Sabriel and lover of the Abhorsen. Read on as own fate is determined, and how she passes life to the last Abhorsen...
1. The girl with the dark hair

**A/N: Hello there, Abhorsen readers! Yes. I am back. This one I've been harbouring for a while but I promised myself I wouldn't publish until I finished Back to the Old Kingdom. Anyway only a few notes: this story starts in Ancelstierre not far from the wall, but far enough to be able to use modern technology and a little magic. Alrighty? Oh, and also the accent on one of the policemen is a little um... not so Old-Kingdom-ish so please forgive me. **

The underground train sped along, moving with its perpetual haste, zipping in and out of the grubby stations with high-headed importance.

In the third carriage down from the driver in was crowded, and on that spring morning, most were hot and sticky.

None of them looked like they wanted to be there, and all sat or stood with a look of impatience.

A girl on the third row of seats in the carriage was the only person there sitting properly upright, and she did so with a sense of pride, her sharp, unblinking eyes watching all with quiet interest and sometimes disdain.

She was pleasant to look at: a hard square jaw that matched her sharp line of a mouth, but mismatched the full lips that had never been touched with a lipstick pen.

Her dark eyes were slightly slanted, though she was not of oriental ethnicity, she merely looked that way. Her dark hair hung dead straight to her chin and was pinned away from her face. The black of her hair suited the fairness of her pale skin, though it was not the deathly colour of the baby she repeatedly saw in her dream.

She was dressed in plain clothing, sharply cut to closely follow her neckline. The pale cotton vest that showed not the faintest hint of a collarbone, and the grey skirt was not of any fashion, reaching past her knees to leave an inch or so of bare, pale skin before it met the long, silver –grey stockings and then the tightly buckled shoes.

Over the vest was drooped the most expensive item the girl seemed to have: a pelt jacket that strapped hard across her body, making sure no unwanted hands could get in.

A tag around her neck read "Merinos, Fanar, 07326989."

But no one on the train could see that, as it was encased in plastic and tucked into her breast-band underneath all other clothing.

She looked nervous, her posture hinted that she was ready to bolt at any moment, but for the moment this characteristic was hidden in the pelt.

In fact, the clothing was the only reason she remained inconspicuous. Her whole body was tense, and were it not for her darkened glasses, many would have seen her eyes flick frantically to the over-crowded doors.

As they arrived at the next station the tube train became suddenly over crowded with people, there was a hiss as the doors slid open, and the few people already in the carriages gasped. The station was thick with people, all eyes wide with fear, their foreheads sweating, their screams becoming audible as the train stopped with a shudder.

As the doors opened all persons waiting for the train threw themselves in, screaming, and hurriedly shouting, wild noise that suddenly bombarded the train as people upon people fought to scramble on.

'What's going on?' someone yelled,

'I don't know!'

He swore, 'There's a murderer loose! He's killin' anyone in sight! Big! Black hair!' Someone thumped the windows as more people crowded in.

'Move it!' he yelled, hurried pushing his way to the door, 'C'mon, everyone on, please, get on, yeah, its gonna be a squash – but I need you all to move your asses! Come on, guys, keep moving!'

Anyone who bothered to look at the speaker only noticed the mauve uniform of the Uliscé police, and moved faster as they bustled onto the vehicle.

Most muttered, 'Shit!' and began to push their way harder onto the train.

No one noticed the dark haired girl slip between the squashed-in people and easily slip off the train and past the Uliscé policeman.

As the train driver finally emerged from his cabin at the front, he yelled, 'Fin' hell, Sir, this thing surely can't get them all off can it?'

'It better surely do!' The policeman snapped back, He held up his arms to three remaining people waiting hurriedly on the platform, looking desperately for a space they could crane themselves into. 'They'll be sharing your cabin, Sir, if it ain't too much to ask. We got a murderer here – can't say how many he's killed there's just – look go, alright! Move this train!'

'Yessir! The driver snapped to attention and clambered aboard with the three frightened looking passengers. He patted his dashboard, checked the map and started up the train. It groaned and wheezed before shuddering into action, huffing like an aged steam engine, much less the swift underground thing it was.

Anet, the policemen saluted it's decent down the tunnel and turned back to the frozen escalator that had been disabled minutes after the criminal had entered.

Anet became uncomfortably aware that he was alone in the station, and swiftly ascended the immobile escalator, flicking the catches on his weapon of choice: gun. Off safety, on silent.

The criminal, he had been told by the chief, who was covering somewhere else in the building, was armed and highly dangerous. The chief had painted that part vividly, though when it came to talking about what the criminal was actually armed with, the chief had become suddenly vague and distant, and though Anet had attempted to press the information from him, he could not discern what was so dangerous about a bandoleer which bore seven bells.

All Anet knew was that the guy was dangerous. And he had killed people. Hundreds, maybe thousands.

Anet turned the corner, stopping to look round at the abandoned newsagent, whose magazines lay in a flurried mess.

A sudden movement! Anet whirled around, his senses sharpened by the silence. Over sharpened even, he was getting close to jumpy and he calmed himself with deep breaths. Become jumpy and anyone- anyone could get hurt.

Breathing in, he focused his attention on the source of the movement and watched for it again, his eye to the visor of his gun.

His fingers nimbly caught the catch that loaded it with fresh bullets and he aimed at the abandoned shop's counter. He could of sworn he'd seen movement ther...

Cold metal bit into his neck. 'Don't move.'

A whisper, barely more, almost inaudible despite the eerie silence of the station. In his mind, Anet cursed himself violently. _I didn't see! He couldn't have caught up with me – couldn't have snuck up that quickly._

The knife bit deeper, and in that second, Anet said his last prayer.

This? Really? This is how I die? But it came so quickly so... I didn't expect... 

'Put the gun down, please,' the knife-holder ordered and Anet let his weapon clatter to the floor without question. He almost laughed. _A polite criminal!_

A black-clad toe emerged from behind his range of vision and pulled the gun away. The knife came away from his throat and he fell forward, choking, because he hadn't been breathing.

At last he turned around, wiping away blood from a shallow but long cut that ran across his Adam's apple, he looked up, and glared at his attacker.

A girl, not a man, held knife and gun in gloved hands. Her night-black hair was tucked neatly away from her face, and slanted midnight eyes surveyed him coldly.

His initial reaction was one of shock, for as he looked her down, he saw that the whisperer who had disarmed him looked to be no more than an eighteen year old school girl, possibly in her last year of sixth form. She looked on him a moment longer, before sheathing the thin dagger and tucking it back inside her thick pelt jacket. She sighed and raised the gun to her eye level, testing the balance and, almost carelessly, she aimed at a pillar behind Anet and shot.

Though it may have been a good thirty centimetres above his head, Anet cried out as he felt the bullet flurry his hair above his head.

The girl frowned, and then sighed again, disarming the gun and taking it carelessly apart, letting the individual bits clatter to the floor, save for the bullet holder, which she threw down the escalator. Each step it fell made Anet wince, and moreso as he heard it clatter to the tracks below them.

The girl sighed as Anet cowered under her stare and said impatiently, 'Oh get up, would you?'

He obeyed shaking and she glared down at him sharply. '_Never _use a weapon which you are afraid of.' She said, her tone one of superiority.

'I'm not...'

She interrupted him with a bitter laugh and said, 'Of course you are. I saw the way you shook when I disarmed you, and how you jumped when I shot a metre or so over your -'

She stopped suddenly, and muttered, 'Sorry.'

Anet's mouth fell open. _Sorry?!_

'I'm not going t hurt you.' The girl said, in what she obviously thought was a re-assuring way.

She looked at him shyly. 'I just... have business here. I can't let the police get involved... Go down to the station and... catch the next train you see.'

Anet was shaking his head, fingers trembling, 'I'm sorry Ma'am, I can't let you do that.'

The girl sighed exasperatedly and stamped her foot.

'Honestly, are all you policemen brain-dead? _Please _will you just surrender and get out of my way?'

Anet shook his head, arms folded firmly across his chest and chin pulled out stubbornly.

'Ma'am, I just can't do that... I'd be fired for letting you go, by law I am now entitled – no, _supposed _to arrest you for threatening the police...I...'

But what else Anet was entitled to do by law was stopped short as the girl kicked him hard in the groin. He buckled instantly, a reflex, which sent him crumpling to the ground, and then fell to the unswept floor.

Calmly, the girl arranged her fingers to meet the pressure points and applied her strength.

Anet's world turned black around a pretty, pale face surrounded by thick black hair.


	2. History and Present

A/N: Thank-you for point, Saraneth90, I appreciate it. I wish you'd think about what you're saying though, because clearly I have read Sabriel and Lirael and Abhorsen, otherwise there would be little point in writing this. I think you might be mistaken though. I know Lirael's mother's name of course: Arielle, and I know that we have been told the name of Lirael and Sabriel's father, but, actually, I think you'll find that we are still clueless as to what Sabriel's mother is called, and therefore, I can call her Fanar Merinos! Thank you for your lovely review too, Spellcastre, as it was much appreciated.

**Rightyho, on with actual writing!**

Fanar Merinos was unusual, it was true. A purebred Ancelstierran, born single daughter of parents anonymous to her still. She had lived until the age of five at a nunnery, where her parents had left her I the care of wizened Old charter-witch named Marlo.

When Marlo died, Fanar had been sent to a state boarding school in South Ancelstierre, a place in which she had dwelled until her early teens. When the place upgraded to a private school, Fanar had been adopted by another boarding school, Wyverly College for "young ladies of quality."

The college was, admittedly, private boarding, like the school she had been sent out of, but due to her independence and her above-average intellect, Fanar, who had been taken in by the Magistrix of the time, Agatha Grottlewile, received a scholarship. She was a hard worker, a good student in most areas of the school's syllabus. It was here that she came to hear a great deal of The Old Kingdom, a place that lay beyond The Wall, which was not as far from Wyverly College as Fanar had first suspected. Her thoughts often drifted to what lay beyond her cosy school home, and what secrets and mysteries unknown to her still lay ahead, waiting for her to unlock them.

On her seventeenth birthday, Fanar had been woken by a disturbing dream.

She was cold, colder than she'd ever been in her life. Chill blains marked her fingers and toes and she drew herself into a ball, shivering, her breath making no mark in the dense, misty air around her. As she sat there, eyes smarting as a fierce wind blew into them, a shape appeared somewhere near. She squinted through the mist, trying to distinguish the silhouette, shivering violently. She called, and, through the mist a voices screamed, 'Everyone get down!'

'A murderer!'

Fanar called again, 'Help, please, help me.'

The figure took another step towards him, and a hand, like shadow but almost matter, solid, extended to her.

'Come with me, Fanar Merinos.' Someone whispered. 'Come with me.'

Far off, another voice bit into her, 'No! No! Please, girl, come _this _way, _this way_.'

Fanar turned, her numb brain confused. Which to turn to?

'This way Fanar Merinos, this way.'

'No! Please, take my hand, come on, I'll take care of you!'

'Leave her, Abhorsen.... No! NO!'

A baby's shriek split the air, high and great, and Fanar's gaze focused on a face above her, huffing, '_Come on, girlie, push, love, come on, push._'

Fanar wailed, 'Abhorsen!' though she had not a clue why. Her eyes were bleary, the sound of the baby haunted her body and she shrieked. The baby grew louder and someone, something above her moved and brought it to her face.

'It's a girl,' someone whispered, and then Fanar woke, cold sweat trickling nastily down her spine, making her shiver and the desire to retch creep over her like hungry mice.

That had been six months ago. The dream had recurred every month since then, and in each dream, the vision of the baby, dead-skinned and wailing filled her head, so much so that weeks after she would hear wailing.

One week ago, Fanar had had the privilege of meeting someone from the Old Kingdom. Her name was Filris, though nothing else was said about her, and she had come to the Headmistress, asking especially to talk to a young girl named Fanar Merinos.

Fanar was intrigued by the strange summons, and was entranced further still by the nature of the woman's visit. She had shut herself and Fanar in the Headmistress' office, bidding that the two of them be left alone. Talking quickly the woman had produced a train ticket, and said that, if she did not get off at Uliscé station, she would regret it for the rest of life. Then she simply disappeared. Fanar could not believe it. That was _all_ she had said, nothing else of importance. Nothing. Briefly, she had touched her on the shoulder, advised her to cut her hair, because it would get in her way, and simply vanished.

Fanar was left, dumb, feeling unsure and wronged by herself, entirely lost.

And then she did it. She had cut her hair, from waist to chin, she had prepared, and then she had left. The tag around her neck granted her entry to any city in Ancelstierre, but she was at Uliscé. And regretting it. A murderer. That, she had not had in mind, but here she was, not dressed for the occasion in any sense. She was scared at how easily Filris had made her come here. She had only to tell her that if she didn't regret would be in her stomach and Fanar had gone.

Fanar didn't like it, being independent and rational, dismissing anything that she found to be unreal or unlikely. That was Fanar Merinos, not someone who had been persuaded to go somewhere because she would _regret _it if she didn't.

But here she was, at nothing Filris had done could change that, and rubbing her temples wearily, she hauled the policeman behind the counter of the newsagent. Perhaps he wouldn't get hurt. Perhaps he would. Either way, Fanar desperately wished he hadn't been so stubborn and simply complied to her wishes as she had asked him.

Sighing, Fanar tucked a stray strand of black hair behind her ear and turned her attention to the floor above her, she could hear the sound of bullets being fired and yells and shouting of policemen. Above all, she could hear a sweet tingling...something about it made her wish to be asleep, her eyelids fluttered and she shook herself. No. Definitely not a good idea.

Drawing her knife from it's scabbard tucked inside her inner lapel, she started towards the stairs and climbed them quietly, watching the balcony above. She emerged in a ticket office, where only a small man by the counter cowered. He squeaked as she entered, and ducked under the desk, but Fanar paid him no attention. Someone.... She could feel it, someone was waiting for her, the feeling of it tingled gently in her fingers, there was something grey about the man's presence, and she knew that she would instantly recognise him when she saw him. She only hoped he wasn't the man the police were shooting so desperately at. She round a corner, took a second flight of stairs and found herself on a higher floor, a balcony, which was occupied by a café. Tables and chairs were upturned, and at the railings, several policemen were firing rapidly at someone far below, they shouted, wiping sweat from their foreheads, and Fanar heard the constant crackle of two-way radio.

She shivered, and wondered if she should stop their shooting by performing her expertly practiced sleep-hold, in which her fingers found main pressure points: joints in neck and head. It would take skill to sneak up on men this high on adrenaline, so she refrained, backing quietly down the stairs. On the second balcony she found herself on, only one policeman stood, and she was more confident about taking on one of them alone, quietly, she snuck up behind him and whispered in his ear, 'May I have your gun, Sir?'

He jumped, firing randomly, and swiftly, she pounced on him, knocking him unconscious with the butt of his own weapon. He buckled, and, retrieving the gun, she tucked it into her coat pocket.

She stopped, peering over the balcony, and suddenly realised that all firing had stopped. Men were yelling, but there calls were drunken, drowsy even.

A hand slithered around her throat, and, quite suddenly she froze, her heart thudding louder than ever she would have thought possible.

A tiny, tinkling sound soothed her nerves, and, like the rest of the Uliscé police force, Fanar's body was surrendered to the sound of a bell she would soon know as "Ranna"....

**A/N: Coolio. Ok, I'm actually excited right about now. Well, what did you think?**


	3. Abhorsen

A/N: hey! Ok, I've decided to include Mogget in this chapter, but I'm not entirely sure on the shape he would have resumed at this time, despite my suspicions that the white dwarf was his usual form, however, I thought I'd make it a bit more original by using a different form, so no need to point it out to me!

Something warm. Her hands gripped it unconsciously, and slowly the realisation of the heat came to her. Fumbling, her fingers met the handle of the mug and with no real inhibitions; Fanar raised the drink blindly to her lips and sipped.

The liquid was hot and it slid down her throat with the sweet taste of rum and malt plus the potent one of whisky.

Fanar sat up, coughing hard, her eyes watering. She swore, and felt a hard hand thump her back. She opened her eyes, which were bleary from sleep and looked up.

The man before her was tall, his gaze concerned. She slid back off the bench she had been lying on, and, shocked, she pulled herself up again, backing into the wall.

The man smiled sadly, and Fanar gulped. Perhaps it was the murderer the Uliscé police had been so concerned about. Or was this her prison guard? Cell mate? Had she been imprisoned for knocking a policeman unconscious?

Fanar looked about herself carefully, and noted the cavernous roof. He could see no door, and could only imagine that this place was a cove hollowed out from a rock face. Candles lit the grimy place in brackets nailed to the wall with rusty iron pegs. A simple table lay in the centre of the room, and the bench on which she sat turned out to be more comfortable than it looked. She looked back at the tall man, who now clutched the mug he had clearly woken her with.

His chin was handsomely chiselled, and rough black stubble grew along the line of his jaw.

His nose arched proudly between dark eyes, rich and deep beyond entrancing pupils. His hair was drawn back with a length of silver cord, and was so black it contrasted stunningly with his startlingly white skin, skin that was so pale it might have been dead.

He wore black breeches and a shirt that was unbuttoned and hung loosely over his shoulders, revealing a stomach that bore deep scars over hard muscle.

Fanar's gaze was drawn to his arm, where the sleeve was ripped and rolled up to reveal a heavy bandage, dark blood stained the cloth.

A movement in the corner of the cave attracted her gaze next, and Fanar found herself looked at a snowy white owl, whose plumage was as white as the man's fair skin.

It's large eyes were fierce emerald and gave her a truly filthy look before fluttering down from its first perch: a vacated candle bracket to a wooden trunk, from which clothes spilled out from the lid, a sleeve littered with silver keys against a background of deepest blue.

Fanar looked back at the man, who said nothing, and merely offered her the steaming mug once more.

She took it gingerly, and gave the room one more furtive glance, before gulping the contents, not caring what else was in it: at least it had woken her, and she had a feeling her next sleep would not come for a long while.

'That's it.' The man spoke with a rich, deep voice, and his eyes glared at her with a fierceness entirely alien to the usually calm Fanar.

She finished and put the mug down, purposefully. Then she stood, and to her surprise she was only a little smaller than him, three inches at most.

'I am sorry about this.' The man informed her, 'There is much for us to talk about, little one, sit, and let us eat.'

Fanar heard him, but did nothing to show she had. Finally, she held him, her gaze frosty and sharp. 'Who are you?'

The man blinked, and smiled, 'Forgive me,' he said, 'I am Abhorsen, and yourself?'

_Abhorsen? _Fanar thought, trying to derive the name from some nook or crevice in her head. She had heard it before, but as to where she had heard it, she couldn't place.

'Fanar,' she said quietly, taking his broad palm. The fingers were calloused; the left palm bore a large, shiny burn. Fanar took him in again.

'What happened? Where have you taken me?'

The man sighed, and sat, and, the owl ruffled it feathers impatiently from the corner.

'I am Abhorsen,' he repeated steadily, rubbing his temples with fingertips. 'I...well, of course, this will sound ridiculous.'

'Try me.' Fanar murmured. 'I've had some strange things happening to me even before I caught the train.'

Abhorsen raised a weary eyebrow. 'And I suppose your assumption is I'm that unusual murderer they're all trying to catch?'

'This isn't exactly a welcoming place.' Fanar commented in reply, gesturing the cave.

Abhorsen winced and nodded. 'Thought as much.'

'Well, if you're not a murderer then why were they all screaming and firing at you. The first policeman I saw seemed genuinely worried.' She frowned, and suddenly looked worried herself. 'What did you take me for?'

Abhorsen's fingers returned to his temples and Fanar found the desire within her to reach up and prize his fingers away.

There was no way this man was a murderer. For one, she was almost certain that he would have killed her by now... unless something else was on his mind... but he had not looked at her in a sexual way even once, and a quick inspection of her clothing was enough to tell her no one had unbuttoned or shifted anything. She relaxed by a hair. He may not be a murderer but whatever else he wanted he had still taken her and she was suspicious of some other duty he wanted of her. She sat up on the bench and coughed. He looked up and smiled, 'Sorry. The Policemen at Uliscé were mistaken. They saw me lay to rest two of the dead, and mistook me for some crazy murderer. One of their number had to know me... but that makes no sense!' he stood up suddenly, and Fanar sighed.

'So, do you think, maybe, if you'd be so kind, maybe you could let me go?'

Abhorsen fixed her with a hard stare and she stared back, mouth set.

'I saw you take down the policemen with a simple hold.' He said. 'Ingenious.'

'Thank-you.' Fanar replied, smiling rather smugly. She was the best in her class at fighting arts...

'Forgive me,' Abhorsen was talking again, 'You weren't what I expected. How old are you exactly?'

'Eighteen.'

Abhorsen's dark eyes widened.

'You're in what, sixth form?'

'Yes.' Fanar replied.

'Impressive.'

'Thank-you.' Fanar replied, and then suddenly burst, 'So, tell me, if you're not a murderer what were you doing with those bells the policemen kept talking about? And how did you get me to sleep?'

A formidable sound rang out from the trunk and the owl stretched it's wings and came to perch on Abhorsen's shoulder.

It was then Fanar noticed the red anklet the owl bore around one talon, and the silver bell that dangled on the tag intrigued her. As the owl shifted position it rang, and Fanar felt the formidability shiver over her, a great sense of a power behind that bell, and something of it's purpose. It was not there to look pretty or make a nice sound, and she kept that in mind as she trained her eye on it.

'A miniature Saraneth.' Abhorsen said proudly, reaching to touch the bell softly with a finger.

The owl hooted and fixed it's gaze on Fanar. She was not surprised when it spoke, green eyes glittering dangerously.

'I'd watch this one, Abhorsen. She's thinking far to much for a schoolgirl.'

'Hush, Mogget.' Abhorsen snapped. The owl only glared at him contemptuously.

'Look, Fanar, meet my servant, the Mogget.'

Abhorsen reached up to stroke the owl's snowy feathers and he hooted comfortably.

Fanar let her eyelids flutter. 'Servant?' she wondered aloud.

'Not just of this fool,' the owl hooted indignantly. 'Of the charter also.'

'Of the charter.' Fanar said slowly.

She knew a great deal about the charter, and was something of a mage herself, but she had never heard of a servant of the charter, nor did she know what Abhorsen meant by 'miniature Saraneth.'

'What's a Saraneth?' she asked.

Abhorsen nodded at her. 'The Binder.' He reached behind him and came up with a large leather bandoleer. Fanar watched, fascinated as Abhorsen fitted the bandoleer across his chest, diagonally. Seven pockets were shining with what looked like beeswax, and from each pocket a leather handle showed, charter marks traced into the polish.

Fanar stared, mesmerised.

'What are they?' she asked, finding the answer as Abhorsen lifted the flap of the first pocket and pulled out a bell, one no larger than a pillbox.

The handle gave way to charter-infused silver that glittered in the light of the candles and without thinking, Fanar reached out to touch it.

The silver met with her skin and she shivered as something ran through her, like a charge, and Fanar felt a sudden completeness within herself. It was as if she had never complete before and the connection with the bell brought her to it.

Either way, she felt an alarming will to trust Abhorsen, and so it was, and she found herself looking deep into his eyes. There was something there, some will that held her and made sure there was no way on earth she could look away. A connection, something clicked into place and the two were looking upon each other with a renewed respect.

'Sorry to break the tender moment.' Came a snooty hoot, 'But we ought to go, Abhorsen, the Uliscé have found us.'

**Well?**


	4. The Cliffs

Abhorsen froze where he was, muscles tensed, and eyes scouring the gloom around them.

'How would the Uliscé police find me _here_?' he asked the owl, sharply.

'Oh, _sorry_.' The bird muttered, deeply sarcastic, 'Did I forget to mention their leader? Mm, yes, seems he's something of a necromancer. He can feel us, Abhorsen, and he knows we have _her _with us.'

Abhorsen looked at Fanar, his stare hard. 'What would they wanted with you?'

Fanar shrugged. 'I... I... don't know. I suppose I _did _tackle several of their officers. Maybe they thought I was helping you...'

'The point,' Mogget interrupted, 'Is that the necromancer is leading the police to us, and whether we plan to discuss Miss Fanar's significance to the Uliscé police, if its all the same to you, I think we ought to be out of here.'

Abhorsen nodded. 'You will come with me?' he asked Fanar, dark eyes searching her.

Fanar frowned as she looked up at him, and could not deny the feeling of trust she felt emanate from him. She nodded firmly and took his offered hand. He helped her to her feet and, as she looked at him, he flashed her a grin.

'Have you any weapons?' he asked her.

She produced her dagger and lifted her coat to show him the short sword that was buckled to her skirt belt, at her hip.

'Anything charter spelled?' he asked hopefully.

Fanar shook her head, making her black bobbed hair flap in and out of her eyes.

'Alright, never mind, I shouldn't think it will matter for now.'

Swiftly, he crossed to the trunk and donned the item which had attracted her attention before. The dark blue surcoat, emblazoned with hundreds of tiny silver keys. He buttoned it to his throat, and lifted a bandana from the box too. This he restrained his hair with, tying the ends of the head-garment with a flourish before bending over the trunk and pulling out a final item: a scabbarded sword. Fanar could feel the charter magic underneath the silver that encased it, and she longed to draw the weapon out herself and test the blade against the bench she had been sitting on.

Finally, Abhorsen came back to her and lifted up the bandoleer, which he strapped across his chest, diagonally, so the bells hung down from the seven catches that held them in place.

'Time to go,' he whispered, gripping her arm briefly.

Pulling her away from the wall she had had her back to, he traced three symbols, muttering, 'Yjannui'

Fanar blinked as bright charter marks shimmered into being on the wall, sketching a large, human-size oval in the wall. The marks brightened as Abhorsen continued his incantation, and finally spilled over, into the centre of the thing, filling every space, filling it with light that Fanar was obliged to look away from.

When she looked back seconds later, the light had dimmed, but was still glowing, reflecting Abhorsen's troubled, tired eyes.

'Go on,' he motioned. 'Go on through.'

Fanar hesitated, then reached out, and stepped through the oval.

Sharp pain wrenched through her spine and legs and for a moment, making her tense. Her body was wrapped briefly in paralysis, the darkness tight around her, almost suffocating. She gasped, and fell forward, absorbing the impact hard with her knees and hands. They jarred and she rolled forward to relieve the rest of the impact before turning, and looking sharply around, her dark hair swinging across her face. She growled angrily and pulled it away, looking back around. The air was fresher here, sharper, crisper. She was in a tunnel, mainly rock, lit with holes made at regular intervals with a craggy roof that hunched over her so she could tell it would not be possible to stand, only crouch. She swore, looking at her bloody knees. They had scraped along the unforgiving floor of the tunnel. Gingerly, she picked away the grit and turned back to where she had come from. There was nothing there, just the grey rock face.

Fanar looked along the tunnel, and saw it twisted off and away so she could not see where it led to. In the other direction, the tunnel opened out onto a rocky, pebble-strewn beach. The sky was overcast, and the sea swirling turbulent and unpredictable. As she watched, the waves lashed out at the shore, making spray erupt in a wash of white.

Fanar felt a hand grip her shoulder and she gripped it wrist, the reflex sending her attacker over her shoulder – or it would have, if he had been standing up. Instead, she heard an "oof!" as her attacker hit his head on the craggy roof above.

Fanar looked back, triumphant, and gasped.

Abhorsen stood behind her, rubbing his head, grimacing. 'Ouch.' Her commented, as Fanar gabbled her apology.

He smiled, 'Don't worry. I've a thick head, and the bit I rammed into was flat.'

Fanar winced, muttering, 'Sorry,' despite his calm.

Mogget, who was hooting happily at his master's injury fluttered down from his shoulder and glared meaningfully at him, as Abhorsen rubbed his head.

When he caught Mogget's eye, he nodded. 'You have permission, but mind you keep up.'

Mogget fixed his master with a malevolent stare, and turned away.

Fanar looked hopefully into Abhorsen's dark eyes.

'Where now?' she wondered, suddenly feeling the cold. She pulled her stockings higher above the knee and shivered.

'Out.' Abhorsen's eyes were focused on the overcast sky outside and he nodded in that direction. He stumbled forward at a crouch, followed clumsily by Fanar, who couldn't manoeuvre as gracefully as he, held back by the embarrassment of the skirt and the rocks.

Halfway to the opening she remembered Mogget and looked back.

She jumped.

Coming right up behind her, trotted a startling little white man, a sort of albino dwarf, with a long white beard, floury face and the same brilliant emerald eyes of the Mogget-owl.

Fanar looked at him for a moment and her stopping hindered his own movement. As he halted, the tinkling of that same bell sounded, and Fanar glanced at his stout waist. A broad belt encircled his stomach, and, in place of a buckle, sounded that same bell that had jingled on Mogget's owl-formed talon. 'Come along Miss Fanar,' he snapped, hopping between her legs so fast that Fanar squealed and nearly hit her head on the roof of the tunnel.

She glared at the dwarf furiously, too livid to speak.

Mogget turned back with a sly smile. 'Honestly, it was as if I was any other dwarf.' He chuckled. 'Not the servant of Abhorsen.'

Abhorsen looked back briefly, and Fanar blushed and kept moving.

Once out of the tunnel, Fanar straightened and assessed their surroundings. They were in a cove, thickly surrounded by other caves dug into the dark grey cliffs that towered above. The beach was mostly pebbled, and what sand there was looked sludgy and grey, with regular dips acting as rock pools, full of tepid water.

Out here, Fanar could see the ocean was friskier than usual, growling as it drew back, and pouncing with a fresh eruption of spray. As it lashed at Fanar she stifled her squeal and hid her head, shivering.

She tightened her pelt jacket and pulled her skirt down a little, so the cold didn't dare flutter it.

Looking around again, she noticed that the only way to escape the cove would be to go back the way they came, or take to the sea, unless one of the caves disguised a passage to the bluffs above.

'Fanar!' Abhorsen called above the crash of the ocean.

She looked up, to show she'd heard, and turned finally to retrieve her hat from her bag.

Shoving her hair under it, she turned back to Abhorsen.

'How are you at climbing?' he yelled.

Fanar thought. She had climbed before, she remembered. Once or twice school trips had taken her to the capital of Ancelstierre where tutoring for unusual sports took place.

Fanar looked back to the sheer rock faces and gulped.

'Um... not bad.' She replied, unsurely.

'Good.'

Abhorsen made his way over the field of rocks to the sludgy beach, where drizzle whipped into their faces.

The walk across the beach took the better part of fifteen minutes, and by the time they reached the wall of cliff, Fanar's legs were freezing.

She rubbed them hard to stir some feeling, but her numb skin only felt the harshness of numb fingers.

She hurried to where Abhorsen stood, craning his neck to look up.

'I think this is our best bet.' He said, quieter now they were a fair distance from the strike of the waves. Fanar looked up, fear gathering in her chest. She wasn't really afraid of heights. She's simply rather avoid them. The cliff she faced now was well eroded underneath and jutted horribly on top. She bit her lip.

'Abhorsen?'

He turned to her, his eyes warm, and for an instant, her fear evaporated. _He _wouldn't let her fall.

'Have you climbing equipment?' she asked nervously.

Abhorsen shook his head.

Fanar felt her stomach clench, and she glanced down at her bare legs and skirt.

Abhorsen noticed.

'Here,' he said kindly, dropping his pack onto the ground and rooting through it briefly, he came up with a pair of breeches.

'They'll be too big.' He warned, 'But they're better than _that_ old thing.'

He gestured to her pleated skirt and she blushed.

She took them gratefully. 'Thank-you.'

He rested a hand on her shoulder for a moment, before turning and beginning to trace charter marks in the air next to him.

Fanar turned and slipped behind a jutting crag which would hide her from him while she changed. She stripped down to her underwear and began to re-assess herself for the climb.

Shivering, she laid her clothes on a nearby rock and slipped the breeches on, followed by another vest, over this the shift she had been wearing. The clothes she had discarded in the change she re-packed.

She paused before putting the pelt back on: it would be flimsy and heavy on her shoulders, even without the weight of her pack, and she would tire easily if she kept it.

Sighing, she laid the pelt down and traced a mark for protection on the sleeve.

She didn't know why, she only knew that she needed to do it.

With that done, Fanar traced marks for grip and safety into the soles and toes of her shoes, in her clothes she marked safety and catching, and on her hat, protection.

Lastly, she reached into the charter and withdrew marks for help, safety and grip once more.

Emerging from her changing post, she walked to Abhorsen, whose clothes glowed with his own charter-spell, He smiled at her as she walked to him, and nodded upwards.

Fanar nodded back in agreement.

Together, Abhorsen and Fanar ascended the cliff.

**A/N: hey, sorry it took so long to get this little guy up... will be more exciting next time!**

**WBR**


	5. Arielle

**Quick Disclaimer: The sign at the front of the wall is the writing property of Garth Nix, he owns it not me. (Fair enough I say. I only wish I had thought of all his amazing characters… Still… Fanar is mine… hehe. Oh yeah, so is Nartook… and Uliscé, come to that…) Mary Sues Rock! Haha. Ok, I' done**

Pale fingers fumbled and finally dug into the dry, grassy flesh that composed most of the top of the cliff… It was not flat, but sloped, steeply to reach a summit of terrible height, but from there, Abhorsen explained, it was an easy downhill climb, save from several nasty holes.

In any case, he seemed confident that they would reach the wall before nightfall, and the cliff should have left behind the nosy necromancer, or slow his pursuit at least.

Abhorsen offered her his hand as she reached the finally part of the cliff, her hands, neck and back disgustingly sweaty, her forehead was shining, eyes glassy and unfocused, streaming from the harsh wind that had picked up mid-climb. Her hat, a sort of grey beret with a small peak had almost come off and she tugged it away hastily, allowing her hit head to feel the cool of the wind. It was only moments before the heat of the climb had evaporated, and she was starting to feel very cold. She longed for her pelt, but said nothing and retrieved a woollen sweater from her bag, pulling the hat back down over her ears.

Fanar looked carefully around for signs of Mogget, and she started to see the little man by Abhorsen's feet, eyes bored.

Abhorsen turned to smile at her, dark eyes twinkling. 'Alright?'

Fanar raised an eyebrow, then shrugged. 'Can't complain.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

Abhorsen mopped his sweaty brow. 'What do they teach you in school, girls should be seen and not heard?'

'No,' Fanar replied evenly, 'But we learn in etiquette that it is never sporting to complain, soldier on is the best thing to do.'

'Do you believe that?' Abhorsen asked as they began to walk again, trudging heavily up the steep climb.

Fanar's legs felt like jelly, wobbly and thin, worn out from the climb and the adrenaline of merely holding on. She passed behind Abhorsen and muttered a spell to dispel the wet of her sweat-soaked undershirt, so that she could carry on without too much discomfort.

'Yes,' she said, her spell completed. 'I do.'

Abhorsen only half-smiled, eyebrows raised, and continued on.

True to his word, the wall came into view as the sun set on the horizon.

Fanar was utterly baffled to see it still sinking on the other side of the wall, It was a warmer glow than the pale egg-yolk disc that set in Ancelstierre, and Fanar gasped to see so many hills on the other side still bathed in warm glow.

Abhorsen laughed as he saw her face, 'Winter's just melting here,' he said, smiling, 'which means, therefore, over there, the spring is turning to summer. Always about a season ahead, the Old Kingdom.'

'Were you born there?' Fanar asked, surprised by this information.

'Yes.' Abhorsen replied. His grey eyes looked suddenly tired and dim and Fanar frowned as she detected a hint of regret in his voice.

'What is it?' she asked.

Abhorsen smiled half-heartedly, 'I always get a little down with my return to the Old Kingdom,' he said, quietly, 'The dead are so much less numerous.'

Fanar shook her head; 'I still don't know what you're talking about,' said, a little louder than she meant to, 'What is all this about dead?'

Abhorsen rolled his eyes, 'You Ancelstierrans.' He sighed.

'What about us?'

'You never give in to the blindingly obvious do you?'

Fanar frowned, hands on hips, her eyes surveying him haughtily.

'_What's _blindingly obvious?' she demanded.

Abhorsen chuckled at her outrage. 'Did you never suspect anything _supernatural _about all these eruptions of leprosy-ridden savages, as you Ancelstierrans like to call them?'

'The Refugees from Nartook? No! They're dangerous, everyone knows that, and some have even compared them to zombies!' Fanar smiled at this. 'But it's all over imaginative nonsense, nothing more, and Nartook is known for nasty diseases.'

Mogget, from his position at Abhorsen's shimmered, and became an owl once more, nestling on his master's shoulder. 'Do you see now about what Abhorsen refers to as blinding obvious?'

'No!'

Mogget sighed exasperatedly. 'I am sure, along with the importance of _etiquette_,' (Mogget paused to sneer), 'That at your school they taught you _basic _skills in Geography? And if they did that then surely you have been taught the lay out of your local Ancelstierran area?'

'Yes…' Fanar replied unsurely.

Mogget sighed. 'Perhaps Abhorsen was wrong about you,' Mogget sneered when Fanar continued to look confused.

'You are clearly an imbecile. Nartook is _next _to the wall. The dead come from the Old Kingdom! The Uliscé breakout of the disease – Uliscé is next to the wall! The wall divides the Old Kingdom from Ancelstierre. The dead, that is, human corpses that are occupied with a lesser or greater dead spirit are always looking to cross! Ancelstierrans are just easy meat!'

'They _eat _people?' Fanar cried, quite disgusted. Her disbelief was dissipating, replaced by a cold, shuddering fear that froze her marrow. She had seen pictures of the disease from Nartook. Bodies peeling away from skeleton, she remembered from the newspaper, _eyes that burn with a savage hunger_. Some had called them cannibals. Others, as Fanar had mentioned had talked of zombies.

Fanar had heard of the dead, being so close to the wall, but she had never believed it. She didn't _want _to believe it.

'Yes.' Said Mogget, his tone growling.

Fanar quietened and bowed her head. 'Then it is your duty… Abhorsen? Your duty to bind them back? Send them back to…. To what?'

'To death.' Abhorsen answered quickly, and then murmured, 'you have your passports I trust?'

Fanar pondered on the former part of his reply, and then muttered, 'Yes.'

Absently, she retrieved the papers and looked around to see why she needed them. They stood at a tall corrugated fence stretching as far as she could see in either direction, though this one held the frame of a door, and quickly, Fanar spotted an officer making his way towards them. Discreetly, she pulled her jumper down and stifled her shiver of cold, rubbing her numb fingers together under the wool.

The sign that was nailed to the side of the door caught her attention, as the officer, garbed in a grey mail hauberk and sword sheath un padlocked the gate and took Abhorsen's papers.

The sign said :

PERIMETER COMMAND

NORTHERN ARMY GROUP

Unauthorised egress from the Perimeter Zone is strictly forbidden.

Anyone attempting to cross the Perimeter Zone will be shot without warning

Authorised travellers must report to the Perimeter Command HQ

REMEMBER: NO WARNING WILL BE MADE

Fanar bit her lip, and heard the officer say to Abhorsen, 'You'll be wanting to look for a tourist Bus back to Ancelstierre Proper, sir?'

'No, thank-you.' Abhorsen said firmly, 'We wish to cross the wall.'

The officer went white and leaned right of Abhorsen.

'You with 'im, Missus?' he asked tentatively.

'Yes.' Fanar informed him, handing him her papers, which he barely looked at.

'You'll be wanting to talk to Colonel Bauch 'bout this, Sur, Miss, it ain't my field, for sure.'

'Where might we find him?' asked Abhorsen politely.

'The South trench, I should think Suhr,' the officer replied, eyeing the bandoleer nervously.

'Thank-you.' Abhorsen nodded at the officer, who steeped aside, still looking apprehensive. There were two South trenches, as it turned out, one lay behind the wall and one in front. The logic was that both lay _South_ of the Old Kingdom, but it would not do to have just one, so there were two – on either side.

Fanar spotted the Colonel before Abhorsen. A stout man, boasting a number of sparkling medals which glinted up at with authority.

She turned to report her find to Abhorsen, but found that he was looking in the other direction, facing West, and looking towards the upper part of a staircase, which emerged into a squarely built, grey archway. Framed in the archway, stood a woman and two small children. All three bore the charter mark, which shimmered a white-blonde, the colour of their very fair hair. The woman's was dead straight and hung over a face, a silky curtain which hung down beside her tanned cheeks, contrasting with alarmingly blue eyes, shimmering with something that could have been tears, save for the fact that it was silver.

The elder of the girl's had shorter hair, reaching only her shoulders, a more golden colour than the other two, but her skin was tanned, and she shared the same bright green eyes with the youngest of them all.

They were dressed in white, pale robes swishing the floor with grace, but apparently picked up no dirt.

Fanar gaped to see three so out of place in this grey structure, and she turned to Mogget, once more an owl on Abhorsen's shoulder.

'Clayr.' He whispered, 'three from the glacier.'

He raised his voice a little louder and called at the three females, 'What are we doing so far from our icicle, Chindrae?'

The woman, looked up, startled, and her eyes instantly focused on Abhorsen. Her look brightened, and she laughed, covering the distance between them in three quick strides.

Abhorsen went to her too, and the two met in a fierce embrace, followed quickly by a small, badly disguised kiss.

Fanar gulped and blushed at the open sign of affection. 'Terciel!' the woman was saying,

'Terciel, it's been so long!'

'Too long, Chindrae,' Abhorsen confirmed, eyes burning with a fierce passion.

Fanar blinked and felt a well of some awful feeling, something like betrayal. She bashed it away, and spotted the elder girl glare at Abhorsen with contempt.

'Terciel, these are my daughters. This here,' she pointed to the elder of the girls who stepped forward, quickly masking her look of disapproval. 'Is Kirrith. And my younger daughter, Arielle.'

Abhorsen nodded to the smaller girl, who looked to be no more than six or seven.

'Chindrae, this is Fanar.' Abhorsen grabbed Fanar's arm and pulled her forward, and Fanar bowed politely.

Chindrae smiled at her, blue eyes showing no emotion as they flicked across Fanar's slender frame and rested briefly on her charter mark, now visible through Fanar's neatly parted hair.

_Terciel? _She thought, vaguely.

'But what are you doing here?' Fanar's confused state dissipated as she tuned in to what Abhorsen was saying, as Mogget came to rest on her shoulder instead of his. His talons nicked her nick under the thick jumper and she jumped, then ignored the scratches and stroked the snowy white plumage absently.

Chindrae was talking again, her brilliant eyes wide, her voice soft. 'We had not seen any of our number leave the Glacier for many decades, but here we are, and imagine!' she laughed, 'We… that is to say, I bring news, Abhorsen, news of a place you have been Seen… strange, that you were there it seems. Quite without your companion here.'

There was something about that word _Seen_ that made Fanar's neck prickle with a sense of strange misunderstanding. Some premonition that the word meant much more than merely _to see_ with eyes.

'Where was I seen?' Abhorsen asked.

Chindrae smiled, 'We do not know. Somewhere that is not here, nor…' she paused and smiled again, 'Nor were you seen _there_.' She gestured to the Old Kingdom, on their left and Fanar looked out. She could see taller buildings in the greater stretch of the distance, and the winding river that Abhorsen and her map of the Old Kingdom had called _The Ratterlin_. Far, far in the distance and broad strip of pale horizon suggested mountains….

'You were in Ancelstierre, it seems, but we do not know where, nor may be show you.'

'Chindrae, I don't understand, what brought you to bring your daughters? Why can't you tell me?'

'Ahh, well some things are better left un said. They are here because young Arielle was blessed with the Sight not fourteen days ago. She is here because she saw us, that is to say herself, Kirrith and I, here, meeting you, here, today…. Or… yesterday?'

Abhorsen nodded without correcting her confusement on what tense she was supposed to be talking in.

Chindrae looked at her daughter, and continued, 'She also saw a baby, Abhorsen, a baby… over the wall, back there…. a small baby girl being born.'

Fanar felt her heart skip a beat. 'A… a girl baby?' she asked tentatively.

The dream… the birth of a child… her child?

'Yes,' Chindrae replied, with no real interest. 'Strange… well, it was nice seeing you, Terciel, and good meeting you too, young Fanar.'

Fanar bowed, dipping her head low, her eyes catching on the smallest girl. She has seen what I have seen…

Then she looked away, her stomach trembling with nerves… a baby? Her baby?

She straightened, meaning to ask questions of the girl, but the archway was empty. Arielle, sister and mother had gone.

'They like to vanish abruptly.' Abhorsen said wisely, with the tone of someone who has experienced something before.

Fanar smiled crookedly, and was about to suggest they move on, until a cry intervened. A shrill, harsh cry that echoed along their part of the wall, a horribly clear cry, strangled and wretched.

A moment later and something twinged in Fanar's heart. Like a piece of her had taken a bruise. She flinched, and realised she had just _felt _someone die.

Another yell exploded beside them and Fanar looked around wildly, watching Abhorsen's face which was lined, his eyes were wide a fearful, his black hair flying about in the wind. 'What is it?' she whispered.

Abhorsen steadied his breath. 'A necrsomancer. A necromancer is here.'

**What happens next?? Haha, not telling. Promise it won't be so long next time. **

**Wild Blood Rose**


	6. Prepare The Wall

**A/N: The Dead… some of you might not pick up on this in first place but you should know: the Wind Flutes? The ones that Colonel Horyse says Abhorsen made? That keep the dead at bay from the wall? They're not made yet! Just so you know and don't correct me. (I am not saying don't correct me when I'm wrong I'm saying don't correct me about that.)**

Fanar felt her senses sharpen, and in an instant, she was reaching out, feeling carefully with unfurling senses. She cast them far, like an invisible net that inched further out even as she laid it down. Even before she smelt it, Fanar felt the hard, hideous feeling of Free Magic, of things unbound and terrible. She smelt it then: like metallic bleach crystals wedged up her nose, a smell so strong it made her eyes water. Without hesitation she reached for her dagger and withdrew it with unspoken purpose.

She looked at Abhorsen – Terciel, whose hands clutched two bells: his thick hands grasping the mahogany handles tight. Fanar vaguely recognised the bells from her first introduction to them back in the cave.

She thought one might be Kibeth, and the other Astarael – no, Saraneth. She decided it was the latter bell since she had ill premonitions of what Astarael' s voice might bring… something she couldn't quite place… but it had something to do with that little girl… Arielle, or something else… something that Arielle would bring.

Fanar came to stand by him, and he looked briefly at her, concentrating on the location of the necromancer – wherever he was. She could tell he was somewhere else too. She hesitated, wondering if she should bring him out of his concentration, but Mogget dug his claws into her. She yelped as they nicked the skin on her shoulder and turned to meet the startling eyes. Stark against the white of the feathers that surrounded them, they glared fiercely at her and she withdrew her unsure hand.

'He needs to concentrate,' Mogget explained after he was sure she would not distract him. 'You won't be much good just pulling him out of it. You must alert the guards at once!'

Sheepishly, Fanar turned and lolloped into a run, racing down the steps two at a time, almost tripping over her feet. She reached the first intervening balcony between the ground and upper wall and filled her lungs.

'Attack!' she called, breathing charter power to her vocals, so her word reverberated out across the trenches, and into several dun coloured tents

Heads instantly popped above the ground and Fanar could tell they could not find the source of the call. She thought it better stay that way: for no teenage girl should be trusted under panicky conditions, she reasoned. She repeated the call, followed with: 'Every man to his post! A necromancer has come! All to the wall immediately! Ready the guns! He must not cross!'

At this, the curious youths down in the trenches quickly steered themselves into orderly actions, and Fanar watched older men organise their troops, snapping them all into one quickly formed line and joining ranks as quickly as possible to make their way swiftly to the wall. Fanar marvelled at their efficiency, her eyes catching on the mail hauberks worn by every soldier. Above her, she suddenly heard the mystified voices of other soldiers who had gathered.

'Abhorsen? On the wall? What are you doing here, Abhorsen?'

They curious tones turned into ones of slight panic as they spotted the danger:

'A necromancer! So near the wall!'

'Who are those mangled men with him- ?'

'- Stand by soldiers! Those are no ordinary men! We need firepower, and lots of it!'

'Abhorsen?'

'Leave the Abhorsen alone, he will help us without us hindering him…'

The voices trailed off and from not far off, Fanar heard the clacking on the nails in the bottom of their boots against the stone.

They were very near –about to come up and discover her if she was not mistaken, and if she was not next to Abhorsen she would look very suspicious. She had already ascertained that the predominant sex on the wall was male, with a few female exceptions – but even these were fully uniformed, and she was not, wearing and odd miss-match of breeches, beige shift and thick jumper.

A foul wind whipped in, dipping down over the wall. Fanar coughed, and felt bile rise in her throat, her mind whirling and she recovered – another taste of corrosive Free Magic – and something else, potent, festering, rotting. Dead flesh. She swallowed and bent her head, breathing deeply to allow herself energy and time to fill her lungs. The hobnail clacking grew louder and, daintily, Fanar straightened and tucked her sweeping black hair back behind her ears. She looked carefully round the corner and saw the first soldier come up the staircase. Quietly, Fanar climbed the staircase further along and went to re-join with Abhorsen.

Terciel, or Abhorsen, emerged from his trance, and began to assess what to do next, he turned for Fanar, expecting her to be there, but she was not, and her absence made his stomach jolt. He gulped, and looked around, men, soldiers were now pouring onto the wall, clearly searching for the necromancer, but Abhorsen, in his trance and felt the necromancer slip from life. The first few soldier's he and Fanar had heard die were ones under the spell of Mordauts. They had been waiting, presumably, for their master's call, and when it had come they had claimed what life their hosts had had left, and sneaked away, foul blobby bodies easily hidden in dark corners. The next soldier to pass them would be the one who would open the gate for the necromancer, and Terciel could not let it happen.

The necromancer and about fifty other Dead Hands were half a kilometre from the wall. Clearly they were meaning to cross, and Abhorsen gazed out in wonderment, _Why do they want to cross? _He thought, _They have nothing much to gain in Ancelstierre – they only weaken back there. _

He set his gaze on the horizon, not surprised by the mist hiding the Necromancer and his dead from obvious view. Above the mist, the sky was blue, between patches of cloud, but Abhorsen took this to be a trick of the necromancer too.

Kibeth and Saraneth in his hands, he took one last look around the area in which he was in, looking for Fanar.

'Went to alert everyone,' came Mogget's call in his ear, and Terciel turned to confront him. But he was nowhere to be seen. Terciel wasn't really surprised, the incorrigible owl had never been one for battles, and never had been, and now was no time for him to become suddenly partial to them.

Terciel turned back to the oncoming force, but his mind was elsewhere, suddenly filled with ghastly images of Fanar, ripped and bloody, lying on the ground, screaming. He jerked himself backward a step and shook. What were these violent images? He had known the girl barely the entirety of that day, and already he felt such a desire to stand over her. For a brief moment his heart panged, and his stood blankly, horrified by the pain her death would cause him, should it happen.

He stamped his foot and shook himself violently. _Stop it_. He thought firmly, _that's enough. _

But he had felt those feelings, and there they were, planted inside him like parasitic vines, leeching onto his innermost feelings. Once planted, they remained and it was that sudden rush of emotion that made Abhorsen slow. He wasn't alert to that portion of the wall becoming slowly empty as soldiers cleared the way for him. He wasn't quick enough to brace for the attack that followed.

Fanar climbed the steps, thinking of her strongest charter spells, ones which would be most use against Dead creatures and necromancers. The basic self-defence stuff taught at Wyverly was all very well until she actually needed to use it, but it wasn't enough for this degree of sorcery. She knew some self-defence spells in theory, such as force fields, but she felt very she knew a rather meagre amount of spells she could actually do.

If physical force, fighting arts, that is, was needed, then Fanar was more than confident, but spells were not exactly her circle of expertise. All the same, complaining that it was not her business to know such things was no use to her when she needed proper spells at a time like this. She called to the charter, extracting marks against the dead and traced them across her chest and back, a shield of protection that glowed with golden fire. She unsheathed her sword with a great swoop and held it aloft: It might not do any damage, without charter magic engraved into it, but it made her feel safer. She hurried up the steps and collided with Abhorsen, clearly about to make his way down. He stopped and caught her tenderly as she fell back. 'Careful,' he warned, dark eyes wary.

'I must go down to them now. You must stay out of the way, Fanar, do you understand?' He pressed his hand on her chest and whispered something powerful. It spread along her shield of protection and she felt stronger for it.

Abhorsen hesitated, and then put his forehead on hers. It was the strangest feeling, charter mark against charter mark, and it made Fanar shiver and jolt, as Abhorsen's arms snaked around her, so close that it should feel uncomfortable, but it didn't. Slowly, Fanar reached up around his neck and together, they drew closer, until finally her lips sealed his and they were briefly nowhere else but in each others arms. It was not passionate until Fanar tried to draw away and then he held her, arms encircling her like a tide, his lips pressing fiercely against hers with ease and not just a little bit of lust.

He drew away, finally, eyes burning with sad, unmistakeable love. His hands held her face there, and he drew away finally, kissed her charter mark and hurried down the steps.

Fanar gazed after him, stunned.

**Ok, ok, I know... I promised to be quicker with my next post and I wasn't so... forgive me... **


End file.
